It was late in the morning when St. Real awoke; and so profound had
been his slumbers during the latter hours of their course, that the
door of his chamber had been opened without his knowing it; and, on
looking round, he found the young Dominican sitting at the farther end
of the room, employed, as usual, in turning over busily the leaves of
his breviary. In his eye there was more wild and gloomy fire than St.
Real had remarked on the preceding evening; and the young noble, who
could not help connecting the monk with the trick that had been played
off upon him during the night, resolved to speak upon the subject at
once, in the hope of discovering what was the real object of the
friars.
"Good morrow, father!" he said, as their eyes first met; "I trust you
have slept more soundly than I have."
"Why should _you_ sleep unsoundly?" demanded the Dominican in return.
"You have no mighty thoughts! you have no heavenly calling! you have
no glorious revelations to keep you waking! Why should you sleep
unsoundly?"
"Simply, because foolish people took the trouble to disturb me,"
replied St. Real. "Heard you not the singing, and saw you not the
light?"
"Foolish people!" cried the friar, with his grey eyes gleaming: "call
you the angels of Heaven foolish people? Yes, profane man, I saw the
light, and I heard the singing; and that you heard and saw it too,
shows me that it was no dream, but a blessed reality! But you saw not
what I saw! you heard not what I heard! You saw not the winged angel
of the Lord that entered my cell, bearing the sword of the vengeance
of God! you heard not the message of Heaven to poor Jacques Clement,
bidding him go forth in the power of faith, and smite the Holofernes
at St. Cloud--the oppressor of the people of the Lord, the enemy and
contemner of the will of the Highest!"
"No, indeed!" answered St. Real, "I neither heard nor saw any of these
things; but I now perceive, father, that the vision was addressed to
you, not to me, as at first I believed it to be. But tell me, good
father, you surely are not simple enough to take all this that you
have seen for--"
Ere St. Real could conclude his sentence, the door, which the
Dominican had left ajar, was thrown wide open, and the Prior of the
convent entered the room, and approached the bed where the young
gentleman had remained resting on his arm while he maintained this
brief conversation with Father Clement. "Good morrow, my son!" said
the Prior. "What! still abed! Brother Clement, thou mayst withdraw."
The friar immediately obeyed; and the superior went on: "I
bring you tidings, my son, which you will be glad to hear. The
lieutenant-general of the kingdom has been informed of your arrest;
and, notwithstanding some circumstances of a suspicious kind which
justified that measure, trusts so much to your good faith and honour,
that he has ordered your liberation, and recognises the validity of
your safe-conduct. Some of his officers wait below; your own
attendants are now collected in the court; and all is prepared in
order that you may immediately visit him. In the meantime, however,
while you rise and dress yourself, I would fain speak a few words of
warning and advice."
"Willingly will I attend, reverend father," replied St. Real, who was
disposed to show every sort of respect to the teachers of his
religion, although he could not but believe that there was a good deal
of double-dealing, even in the very speech by which the Prior
announced the tidings of his liberation. "Happy am I to hear that the
Duke of Mayenne, however he may have learned my detention, is more
awake to a sense of his own honour, than that detention itself seemed
to imply. But let me hear: what is it you would say, good father?"
"As a vowed teacher of the true faith, and a preacher of the holy
Gospel," replied the Dominican, "I would warn you, my son, against any
hesitation in those particulars where your eternal salvation is
concerned. In matters of faith, as in matters of virtue, there can be
but one right and wrong: there is no middle course in religion; and,
if you are a true Catholic, holding the doctrines of the apostolic
church, and reverencing that authority which the Saviour of mankind
transferred to blessed St. Peter and his successors, you must hold the
enemies of that church, who oppose its doctrines, and strive for its
overthrow, as blasphemous and sacrilegious heretics, whose existence
is an ulcer in the state, whose very neighbourhood is dangerous, and
whose companionship is a pest. You must hold those who, pretending to
be apostolic Catholics, support, maintain and consort with the enemies
of that religion, as even worse than those enemies themselves,
inasmuch as they add hypocrisy and falsehood to heresy and sacrilege;
and when you perceive that every vice which can degrade human nature
characterises those who are thus apostates to the church, and
protectors of heresy, you will see the natural consequences which fall
upon such as disobey the injunctions of the church they acknowledge,
and the punishment that will attend all those who uphold a foul and
evil cause,--disgrace, dishonour, loss of their own esteem, crimes
that they once regarded with horror; in this life infamy, misfortune,
and reverse; speedy death; and then eternal condemnation."
In the same strain the Prior proceeded for some time, enlarging, and
not without eloquence, upon all the common topics with which the
preachers of the League were accustomed to stir up the fanatical
spirit of their auditors. He touched also upon St. Real's own
situation, his power of choosing, at that moment, between good and
bad: he spoke of the unquestionable honour and high repute of many of
the leaders of his faction; he painted in the most dark and terrible
colours the vices and the crimes that stained the court of Henry III.;
and he artfully glossed over, or passed in silence, all that could be
detrimental to his own party in the opinion of an honourable and an
upright gentleman. He said nothing of the ambition, the rapacity, the
debauchery, the prostitution of feeling, honour, virtue, patriotism,
to the basest party purposes and the most sordid self-interests, which
disgraced the faction of the League.
While he proceeded, St. Real went on with the occupations of his
toilet, and, somewhat to the annoyance of the Dominican, heard his
oration in favour of the League with a degree of calmness that set all
his powers of penetration at defiance. He expressed neither assent nor
dissent; neither wonder at all the charges which the Prior brought
against the King and his minions, nor admiration of the characters
which he attributed to the leaders of the League. He listened, but he
did not even take advantage of any pause to answer; and, when the
Prior had completely concluded, he merely said, "Well, father, I shall
soon see all these things with my own eyes, and shall then determine."
Somewhat piqued to find that all his oratory had produced so small an
effect, the Prior rose, and, with an air of stern dignity, moved
towards the door. As he approached it, he turned, drew up his tall
figure to its full height, and, lifting his right hand, with the two
first fingers raised, he said, in an impressive tone, while he fixed
his keen eyes upon the figure of the young Marquis, "Remember, my son,
what Christ, your Saviour himself, has said: 'He that is not for me,
is against me;'" and, without waiting for a reply, he turned and
quitted the room.
Unmoved by what he considered, rightly, a piece of stage effect, St.
Real soon followed, and found the door of the corridor left open;
while the servant, who had been suffered to accompany him to the
convent, was seen in the little ante-room beyond, speaking with some
persons in rich military dresses, with whose faces St. Real was
unacquainted. The moment he approached, however, one stepped forth
from the rest, and addressed him by his name.
"I am commanded, Monsieur de St. Real, to greet you on the part of his
Highness the Duke of Mayenne, lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and
to inform you that the arrest under which you have suffered, took
place without either his knowledge or consent, by a mistake on the
part of a body of reitters, who seem to have confounded you in some
way with the troops attached to Monsieur de Longueville. I am further
directed to conduct you to the presence of his Highness, who will
explain to you more at large how these events have occurred. Your own
attendants and horses are already prepared below: and, if it suits
your convenience, we will instantly set out."
"At once, if it so please you, sir," replied St. Real. "I am so little
used to imprisonment, that every minute of it is tedious to me."
Proceeding, therefore, to the door of the ante-chamber, at which stood
one of the Dominican friars, St. Real and his companions were led down
to the court, and there mounted their horses. As he was turning his
rein towards the gate, however, his eye fell upon the form of the
Prior, standing at an oriel window above; and, raising his hat, he
bowed with all becoming reverence. The Prior spread his hands, and
gave his blessing in return, adding--"May God bless thee, my son, and
give thee light to see thy way aright!"
On the present occasion, there appeared to be not only dignity, but
even sincerity, in his tone. Nor, indeed, did St. Real doubt the
purity of his intentions throughout; but, in the wars and factions
that had preceded the time of which we now speak, the young noble had,
as we have said, acted the part of a looker-on; and thus he had
learned many a lesson in the art of appreciating the character of such
men as Prior Edmé Bourgoin--men who, devotedly sincere themselves in
their attachment to the party they espouse, and convinced by passion's
eloquent voice of the justice of their cause, think every means
justifiable to attain its objects, or to bring over converts to its
tenets. St. Real felt sure that the Prior entertained not a doubt of
the rectitude of his own motives, and the propriety of everything he
did in behalf of the League; but he felt equally sure, that the
Dominican would think right and just a thousand means and stratagems,
to obtain his purposes, which he, St. Real, would look upon as base,
dishonourable, and even impious. Whatever end, therefore, had been
sought by confining him in the Jacobin convent, the effect had been
anything rather than increased affection for the League; and, as he
rode away from its gates towards the Hotel de Guise, his only
reflection was, "Well, if such be the means by which the League is
supported, and such the stratagems by which its adherents are gained,
I, at least, will not be one of the crowd of fools whereof its
followers must be composed."
At the Hotel de Guise a different scene awaited him, and different
means of attraction were played off in order to win him to the
faction. All that had passed at the Jacobins had apparently been
minutely reported to Madame de Montpensier; and, with a profound
knowledge of human nature, and a perfect command of art, she at once
read the principal points of St. Real's character, and adapted her own
behaviour to suit it. The mistakes which she committed, as we shall
presently see, were not from misapprehending the traits of his
disposition, but from not perceiving their depth.
On alighting from their horses, the young officers who had conducted
St. Real from the Dominican convent, led him at once towards the
audience chamber of the Duke of Mayenne. At the door, however, they
were informed by an attendant that the Duke was busy on matters of
some deep importance, but that he would be at leisure in a few
minutes. Another attendant then stepped forth to usher him to some
waiting-room; and, ere he was aware of it, St. Real was in the
presence of two beautiful women,--the Duchess of Guise, and the
Duchess of Montpensier,--who appeared busy with the ordinary morning
occupations of ladies of that day, and seemed surprised at the
intrusion; though it need scarcely be said, that the whole man[oe]uvre
had been conducted upon their own positive orders. The attendant, who
led the young cavalier thither, seemed also surprised to find that
chamber engaged; and, begging St. Real to follow him again, was
retiring, with many profound reverences and apologies to the two
ladies, when Madame de Montpensier demanded the gentleman's name; and,
glancing her eye over his person, with a smile not at all unnatural,
added, before the man could answer, that, as all the other chambers
were occupied, the stranger might, if he so pleased, remain there till
her brother was disengaged, as he did not seem so ferocious a person
as to make war upon a bevy of women, though Henry of Valois had shown
that even the sacred robe of the church was sometimes no protection.
St. Real's name was then given by the attendant; who, without further
question, retired, leaving the young cavalier to play his part with
the two artful women in whose society he was placed, as best he might.
The Marquis, however, did not play that part ill. Graceful by nature
and by education, his manners were embarrassed by no kind of
bashfulness; for although his acquaintance with society was but
limited, yet there were two feelings in his bosom which gave him ever
perfect self-possession without presumption. The first of these
feelings was a slight touch of the pride of birth, which taught him,
when in company with the high or the proud, never to forget that he
was himself sprung from the noblest of the land; the second, was the
consciousness of perfect rectitude in every thought, feeling, and
purpose. Besides all this, the St. Reals had been, as I have said,
from age to age, a chivalrous race; and their representative had
strong in his own bosom that species of chivalrous gallantry, which
made him look upon woman's weakness as a constant, undeniable claim to
deference, to courtesy, and to those small attentions, which give
greater pleasure very often than even greater services.
Madame de Montpensier was surprised and pleased; and the Duchess de
Guise, perhaps, inwardly determined to add St. Real to her train of
admirers. At all events, both bent their efforts, in the first place,
to gain him for the League; and the sister of the haughty house of
Lorraine pursued her plan with the calm and steady purpose of a great
diplomatist. In her communion with the young Marquis, she scrupulously
avoided aught of coquetry--she suffered not a touch even of levity to
be apparent in her manner--she put a guard upon her tongue and upon
her eyes, and suffered not even an idle jest to pass those lips with
which such things were so familiar. At first, affecting even a degree
of distant coldness, she suffered the softer and more blandishing
manners of the Duchess of Guise to smooth away all the difficulties of
an accidental introduction; and then, as the conversation proceeded,
she affected to become more interested, spoke wisely and cautiously,
and assumed the tone of virtue and deep feeling, which she knew would
harmonise with his principles; though, if all tales be true, that tone
was the most difficult for her to affect.
She soon contrived to discover a fact, of which she seemed to be
ignorant till St. Real told her; namely, that he was the cousin of the
Count d'Aubin; and then, acting upon one of those vague intuitions,
which women are occasionally gifted with in regard to matters of the
heart, she turned the conversation suddenly and abruptly to
Mademoiselle de Menancourt, and the subject of her detention in Paris.
St. Real was taken by surprise: there had been some warring in his
bosom too, of late, in regard to the fair girl, who had been the
companion of his early youth: it was the only point on which his
thoughts were not as free and light as the sunshine on the waters;
and, at the name of Eugenie de Menancourt, so suddenly pronounced, the
blood mounted for a moment into his cheek, and glowed upon his brow.
Madame de Montpensier saw, without seeming to see; and instantly
understood the whole: but she fancied even more than she understood.
Even though the purity of St. Real's nature forced itself upon her
conviction, the evil and subtlety of her own character affected the
impression which his left upon her mind, and changed it from its
natural appearance. It was like a beautiful face seen in a bad
mirror--the traits the same, and yet the aspect changed. She fancied
that she saw in the feelings of St. Real towards Eugenie de Menancourt
the secret of his hesitation between the League and the Royalists:
not, indeed, that she believed that he wished to bargain for his
services, as so many had done, or that he designed to attempt to
deprive his cousin of the hand of her he loved; but she imagined that
secret, and perhaps unconscious, hopes of some fortuitous
circumstance, proving favourable to his wishes, might be the cause of
a lingering tendency towards the party who could bestow the hand of
Eugenie de Menancourt, when his political feelings led him to support
the royal cause. Upon these suppositions she shaped her plans, and
proceeded to speak of the young heiress with all the tenderness and
consideration of a sister. She commiserated her situation, she
said,--promised by her father to a man that she could not love, and
then left an orphan in the midst of such troublous times. It was
happy, indeed, she added, that the young lady had fallen into the
hands of one in every respect so noble and considerate as the Duke of
Mayenne; for Monsieur d'Aubin must, by this time, have learned, that
the lieutenant-general, endeavouring to exercise his power for the
happiness of all, would not suffer any restraint to be put upon the
inclination of Mademoiselle de Menancourt, but would bestow her hand
upon any one that she could really love, provided his rank and
station, presented no invincible obstacles.
St. Real was, for a moment, silent; but he at length replied, that he
could not conceive upon what ground Mademoiselle de Menancourt's
present objections to a union with the Count d'Aubin could be founded.
During her father's lifetime, he said, she had not apparently opposed
the alliance; and, as far as he had heard, D'Aubin had given her no
new cause of offence.
The subject was one on which St. Real found it difficult to speak,
not from any feelings he might experience towards Eugenie de
Menancourt--for, by a strong sense of honour, and a great command over
his own mind, he crushed all sensations of the kind as soon as he
found them rising in his breast,--but his difficulty proceeded from a
consciousness that D'Aubin was to blame, and from a wish to say as
much as possible in favour of his cousin, without deviating from that
rigid adherence to truth, which was the constant principle of his
heart. What he said was true, indeed. Eugenie de Menancourt had
evinced no strenuous opposition to the proposed alliance, so long as
her father lived; and yet it was during his lifetime that St. Real had
principally remarked those errors in the conduct of his cousin which
he thought most calculated to give offence to that cousin's future
bride. He did, therefore, wonder what new motive had given such sudden
and strong determination to one whom he had always remarked as gentle
and complying; and, although he doubted not he should find Eugenie in
the right, he did long to hear from her own lips the reasons upon
which her conduct was founded.
Madame de Montpensier remarked the restraint under which he spoke, but
attributed it to wrong motives, and shaped her answer accordingly.
"Perhaps," she said, with a significant smile, "Mademoiselle de
Menancourt may have perceived that there are other people, more worthy
of her heart; and, as soon as she finds that her duty to her father no
longer requires obedience, she may yield to her own inclinations,
especially where she finds they are supported by reason."
"I do not think that, madam," replied St. Real. "I do not think
Eugenie de Menancourt is one to love easily; though, where she did
love, she would love deeply."
There was a degree of simplicity and unconsciousness in this reply,
that somewhat puzzled Madame de Montpensier, and put her calculations
at fault. She did not choose to let the subject drop, however; and she
replied--"You seem to know this young lady well, Monsieur de St. Real:
have you been long acquainted?"
"I know her as if she were my own sister," replied St. Real. "We have
been acquainted since our infancy; and, indeed, we are distantly
related to each other."
"Not within the forbidden degrees, I hope?" said the Duchess or Guise,
with a smile.
"She will scare the bird from the trap with her broad jests!" thought
the more cautious Catherine de Montpensier, as she saw the colour come
up again to St. Real's cheek; but he replied, with his usual
straightforward simplicity, "I really do not know, madam: I never
considered the matter; but the relationship is, I trust, sufficiently
near to justify me in asking his Highness of Mayenne to grant me an
interview with Mademoiselle de Menancourt, as I wish to see whether I
cannot remove any false impression she may have formed of my cousin,
and induce her to fulfil an engagement on which his happiness
depends."
Madame de Montpensier gave a sharp eager glance towards the Duchess of
Guise, to prevent her from pressing St. Real too hard; and she herself
replied, "My brother will doubtless grant you the interview, Monsieur
de St. Real; but I am afraid you will be unsuccessful. One thing,
however, you may be sure of, that Mayenne himself will in no degree
press Mademoiselle de Menancourt to such a union, for he is fully
convinced that her objections are but too well founded: and although,
perhaps, the party that we espouse might be benefited by holding out
to your cousin the prospect of our support in this matter, yet it can
in no degree be granted, unless some great change takes place in the
feelings of Mademoiselle de Menancourt herself."
As St. Real was about to reply, an attendant again appeared, and
announced that Mayenne was, for a few moments, free from those weighty
affairs with which the situation of his party overwhelmed him. The
young Marquis rose to obey the summons: but Madame de Montpensier was
not at all inclined to abandon her unconcluded schemes to the chances
of a private interview between her more candid brother and the object
of her wiles. That which had at first been the mere desire of gaining
a powerful acquisition to her party, and of depriving the Royalists of
a strong support, had now become, under the opposition and
difficulties she had met with, the eager struggle of compromised
vanity. Her reputation for skill and policy were even dearer to her,
at that moment, than her reputation for beauty and wit had ever been;
and, at the mere apprehension of missing her stroke in a matter where
she had risked so much, and employed such means, she called up before
the eyes of imagination the calm, half-sneering smile with which
Mayenne would mark her failure, and the galling compassion with which
all her dear friends and favourite counsellors would commiserate her
disappointment.
"I have a petition too to present to my all-powerful brother," she
said, rising at the same time; "and, therefore, with your good leave,
Monsieur de St. Real, I will accompany you to his high and mighty
presence." St. Real, perhaps, would have preferred to see Mayenne
alone, but no choice was left him; and, offering his hand, he led her
through the long galleries and corridors of the Hotel de Guise to the
audience-chamber of the lieutenant-general.